


Thicker Than Water

by summeryewberry



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Damian's parentage, Explicit Language, Gen, Light Medical Treatment, Timeline What Timeline, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summeryewberry/pseuds/summeryewberry
Summary: Inspired by Deathstroke vs Batman, what if Damian's biological father was neither of them?





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after Deathstroke vs Batman, by Christopher Priest.

He'd chosen neutral ground.

The financial district had more security cameras than most of Gotham, but that was no advantage to either side. Jason would need to stay alert, and Talia would need to keep her assassins at a distance if she wanted them to stay out of sight. Enforced distance was a good thing when it came to Talia Al Ghul. The more seconds Jason had to respond to any attacks from her, the better.

He kept his guns concealed in shoulder holsters as he ambled towards Sterling Square. Police airships patrolled above, but they wouldn't see anything suspicious in a young man meeting a lady in the city. Considering he wasn't wearing his mask and costume, no one had any reason to look at him twice.

The square was surrounded by fancy, glass office buildings and banks, lit up like daylight. A few security guards patrolled the edges of the square, but they would be useless if the League of Assassins descended on Jason at any moment.

Fortunately, Talia was waiting alone for him, which meant she was keeping her assassins out of sight. She was dressed in an expensive suit, like a business woman who had every reason for being up here; anyone who didn't know her would have thought her harmless in heels and a blazer. Jason, who did know better, figured she probably had half a dozen knives hidden in her hair, and twice as many on her person.

She turned to face him when he got close enough.

Talia was still beautiful as ever, but with the years that had passed, Jason wasn't drawn to her anymore. She had burned the bridges between them a long time ago.

Jason didn't bother with small talk. "He's mine, isn't he?"

She didn't flinch or startle. She only inclined her head in a polite listening gesture, smooth as though she meant it. "Perhaps I could help you if I knew who you were talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Talia," Jason snapped. He knew he was being rude, but he'd run out of patience long before he set out for this meeting. "I know you trained him in a time capsule to age him and train him faster. It was the same way you trained the Heretic. You faked the DNA just enough to make Bruce and Slade focus on each other. That way, no one even thought about looking at me. It's the best possible distraction if you're trying to hide something." His hands itched for his guns, or at least to punch something, but he managed to restrain himself this time.

Talia sighed, exactly like a put-upon business woman. Too exactly. "My dear Jason, you are seeing conspiracies where there are none."

"You were already pregnant when you seduced Bruce, weren't you?" Jason snapped back, lining up the sequence of events in his head. "You needed plausible deniability, so you got him into bed, and then you purposely messed with the genes so no one would know I was the biological father of your son." He wished she would argue, yell back. He wished she would give him a reason to lash out.

But all Talia did was raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "Is that what you think?" Her posture stayed the same, relaxed, cool and distant.

"Yes. And I also know it's true."

Talia's face gave nothing away. "Then you are wasting your time here, because you are mistaken."

Had Jason really been expecting anything else? Had he really been expecting Talia to confess everything to him?

His jaw clicked, and he forced himself to relax. "No. I know you'll never tell anyone the truth. But I wanted to see your face when I asked you. I might not be able to tell what you're lying about, but I know what a trained, blank expression looks like. And now I know you're definitely trying to hide something from me."

Talia watched him silently, as Jason's anger drained away.

She would never give up valuable information. He should never have expected that. But he had hoped to maybe provoke her enough to wield the truth, if only as a weapon. He could have handled that. But this blankness was worse than anything else could have been.

"What happened that you no longer trust me, Jason?"

The faux-concern made Jason shiver. "You know exactly how much you manipulated me."

"I only ever told you the truth. Was I wrong when I told you that the Joker was alive? Was I wrong when I told you there was a new Robin in Gotham?"

"No, but you knew exactly how the Pit worked, and how it made all that sound to me. I don't blame you for what happened between us, because even though that damned Pit was still influencing me, I knew what I was doing when I slept with you. But I can, and I will, blame you for using all that to your own ends. The least you could have done was tell me I got you pregnant."

Talia sighed the same as she had earlier. The exact same sigh, as if rehearsed. "Even if your misguided accusations were true, would you honestly want to be a father to my child?"

"No," Jason didn't even need to think about that one. "No, I don't want a kid. He's being raised as my little brother now, and that's better than any of the alternatives."

"Then I don't see the problem," Talia shrugged.

Jason grit his teeth. "The problem is that you lied! Again! I would have liked the truth. The real truth!"

"This is the truth," Talia continued calmly, in the rehearsed voice. Everything was so damn rehearsed.

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, I guess it is. And maybe I should thank you for being so obvious to me about it."

Talia's gaze softened the slightest bit, so imperceptible few people would have noticed it, but even in the artificial light, Jason could tell. Once upon a time, he had known her far too well.

"The truth is, Damian is not yours, Jason," she said, not unkindly. "Valuable as you were to me, I knew better than to bear the child of a League trainee."

"Yeah, you did know better. That at least is true." Jason reached up to rake his hair out of his face. He was suddenly fed up with Talia's well-placed words, designed to mislead and manipulate. "And that's why you need all these elaborate lies. To cover up your mistake. You know, aborting Damian would have been an easier way to cover it all up."

"I would never abort the child of a Wayne, nor a Bat," Talia said.

A Wayne. A Bat. Not Bruce or Batman.

Jason felt sick.

He turned his back on her, confident she would let him go as though nothing had ever happened. He had no proof, and never would have any.

That was why he startled when she spoke again.

"Are you going to speak to Damian, or my beloved about this?" There was just enough steel in her voice to warn Jason that her shadows were poised to make his retreat very difficult if she gave the word.

But he only shook his head. "No. No, Damian doesn't need that. Neither of them do. But at least I'll know. I'll know the truth, much good as it does anyone now."

"You are mistaken, Jason. But I will not blame you for being angry with me. Perhaps one day you will see I only wanted the best for you."

Jason snorted. "Don't hold your breath."

With that, he walked away without looking back. No shadows followed him, no tell-tale breezes shifted the hair on the back of his neck. Talia was letting him go, as he knew she would, keeping things quiet, not drawing attention.

But as he crossed Fifth Street, away from the financial district again, his thoughts roiled in the privacy of his own head.

Now he knew.

What he didn't know, was how the hell he was going to deal with this information.

*

Above the square, Robin shuffled deeper into the shadows of his chosen rooftop.

His mother's allies made getting close to the meeting impossible without being seen, but fortunately he didn't need to get any closer thanks to a pair of binoculars and his exceptional skills at lip-reading. The bright security lights from the buildings made it impossible to misread anything.

His back hit the slats of a cooling unit, and Damian curled down on the roof.

He didn't need the binoculars anymore to see his mother head away in the other direction, or the shadows flowing on silent feet behind her.

Something cold and heavy sat in his stomach as he watched her disappear into the city.

For a while, he had thought that betrayal by his mother could no longer hurt him. Not after she had had him assassinated, not after everything she had done to him.

Now he knew he'd been wrong.

Talia would always hold the power to hurt him.

*

It took Damian three days to track down Jason Todd, and when he succeeded it was only because Jason was briefly back in Gotham City, at a convenience store. Of course, by the time Damian crossed Gotham and got there, Jason had already left and was heading home.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, filtering through a light fog that was falling over the city. The bad part of town that he was staying in was already dipping into shadow, and two bags of shopping weighed down his hands as Jason headed down a deserted alley.

No one else was within hearing distance, and the walls of the alley held only boarded-up windows, and an empty fire escape.

It was perfect.

Damian bared his teeth, and leaped.

"What the fuck?" Jason ducked the flying kick to the back of his head.

Damian had just enough time to grab hold of the fire escape and twist away from the retaliating fist.

Jason's blow went wide, and Damian used the moment to drop past him onto to the ground.

When facing an opponent as big as the Red Hood, Damian liked to fight low, using his size as an advantage. He swung a leg out, aiming for the knees.

Unfortunately Jason was wise to Robin-tactics, and sidestepped the kick.

"What the hell, brat?" Jason asked, as Damian swung a fist at his head.

The fist was blocked by a thick and wiry forearm.

Their eyes locked, green to green. So much green.

Damian snarled. His pulse thundered in his ears, like a scream in his head, raging to get out.

Fist, dodge, foot, block, elbow, block. Jason's forearms met his blows with dull thuds that echoed harmlessly off the walls. Whatever Damian swung at him met with firm blocks and dodges.

"I hate you!" Damian spat, throwing an eye-gouge.

Jason knocked his wrist off target to sail through empty air. "Obviously. What did I do wrong this time?"

"Fight me!"

"Gladly, but right now I want to get home and have dinner, so you'll have to wait your turn."

Damian threw another blow at Jason's smug face, only for his knuckles the hit solid muscle of a forearm again. The worst of it was that Damian knew he was fighting sloppy, but now fury raced in his veins, so hot he could hardly see straight. He needed to hit something. He needed this.

"Stop blocking and fight me!"

"Nah," Jason had the nerve to look bored, and Damian's rage flared.

He roared. "Fight me!" 

His kick was dodged again, by a casual sidestep.

"Fight me! Or are you afraid of hitting your own child?"

Jason sneered in his face.

The next moment Damian's arm was caught and with the momentum, his back collided with the nearest wall. He was already preparing for the moment Jason's grip loosened, to use the split second to twist away. But instead, Jason's other arm pinned him across the throat.

"Firstly, you're not my kid. And secondly, when has that ever stopped anyone in this family from kicking each other's asses?"

Damian tried to jerk loose, but the arm across his throat pressed into his trachea. He choked.

"No, you listen to me," Jason snapped. His whole body crowded Damian, to restrain him from building any power in his hits. His hip pinned Damian's legs, and one hand still held tight to his wrist. "I don't know what you've heard, but Bruce is your father, and any idiot can see that."

"Liar!" Damian spat back. "I saw you speaking to my mother. I saw you! And I know what you two were discussing." His free fist into the kidney elicited a grunt from Jason, but the man didn't loosen his hold.

"Shut up and listen, would you?" Jason said roughly.

Damian glared at him, pulling air past the unyielding arm on his throat, his pulse pounding, and his heartbeat loud in his skull.

"Whatever you think you saw," Jason continued, "it doesn't matter. Your mother's still a liar, and your father's still the billionaire, Bruce Wayne, and you are always going to be Damian Wayne, the brat Al Ghul, who thinks he knows better. And I'm the fuck-up that no one deserves for a father, not even you."

So it was true.

Something tore hollow in Damian's chest. It hurt worse to have it confirmed.

"I hate you," he got out.

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Jason drawled.

"I _hate_ you!" The hollowness ached, and his eyes started burning. When he tried to draw another breath, it came as a hiccup. 

"Are you... are you actually crying, right now?"

Damian couldn't stop the tears. He had spent the past three days with nothing but his thoughts and this painful secret, and every time Alfred had asked if he was okay, Damian had needed to lie and lie again. Now the dam was broken. Everything poured out of him: the pain, the silence, the anger released in a rush, and he couldn't stop the tears anymore.

"Ah, crap. Where's Grayson when you need him?"

Jason's pinning arm loosened and lowered him to the ground, and Damian used the freedom to cover his face.

Everything hurt. His throat hurt, breath hurt in his lungs, and behind it all, his chest continued to ache and ache.

Damian had believed in his father his whole life. He had rejected the League of Assassins to work alongside Batman. He had chosen to fight for truth and justice, and all the things his father believed in. And to find out his father might not be who he thought... He hadn't felt this alone and abandoned in a very long time.

"Mo- Talia lied to me," Damian swiped at his tears, trying to get them to stop. It didn't work. Stupid tears. He should have been used to his mother's machinations by now. Why then did it still hurt so much?

"Maybe," Jason said. He was digging in one of his shopping bags, safely put to the side and unaffected by their fight.

"You think she was lying," Damian pointed out between sobs.

Jason scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Judging from the way she reacted..." He sighed. "Yeah, let's just say I wouldn't place any bets on her."

"Why?" It was the one question Damian knew he would never get an answer to, but Jason spoke up anyway.

"My guess? A kid sired by Batman was the most esteem she could get. A kid born to a Pit-crazed trainee, even if I used to be Robin, didn't have the same value. I'm guessing she got creative and mixed some of Slade's genes in there as well, to hide the evidence and to give you some of Slade's advantages. I was just a mistake who ended up giving her the basic cell cluster. And if the truth ever gets out, her plans and schemes go up in smoke. Here." Jason was holding out an entire box of Kleenex.

Damian stared at it, then at him.

"I mop up enough blood that I gotta buy them weekly," Jason defended himself. "Just take it."

The alley returned to silence as Damian cleaned himself up and waited for the tears to subside. Jason only stood there a bit awkwardly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

"Is this why you're being so nice to me?" Damian asked, and blew his nose. "You won't hit me, and normally you would be mocking me for showing weakness."

Jason frowned. "I don't feel like making fun of you today. Deal with it."

"Well, it's weird," Damian told him.

Jason continued glaring at the wall. He took one hand out of his pocket to pick at some graffiti there. "I'm still dealing with all this too," he confessed, so low that Damian almost missed it.

That made him feel oddly better.

Slowly, he could put himself back together again. The anger was gone, spent and dispersed like a fire gone cold. It left behind only this gaping emptiness inside.

After taking a few steadying breaths, Damian could speak normally again. "I ran another DNA test. It was inconclusive."

"Yeah, me too," Jason shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Talia scrubbed all my flaws as soon as she could. Then again, she left your anger issues intact."

"I do not have anger issues, Todd."

Jason's chuckle was not an unpleasant one.

"All right, look," Jason said, "The one thing I know for certain right now is that your parentage doesn't matter because it's already settled. Whether it's Bruce, or Slade, or me that Talia used, it was you and Bruce that chose to be father and son to each other, even without him raising you. Biology can't take that away from you."

Damian frowned.

"And a DNA test isn't going to tell you anything Talia doesn't want you to know. She's the only one who'll ever know the full truth. And we both know you were an experiment to her, raised in a time capsule when she got too impatient to raise you the old fashioned way. Given all that, it's a wonder you're as normal as you are."

Damian blinked. Had Jason just complimented him? "I should be five years old," he added out loud.

"Yeah, I know," Jason scratched his chin, where bristles were just starting to grow again. "Shit. Yeah, you would be."

Damian was certain they were both suddenly imagining Jason with a five-year-old right now. If things had been different, if Talia hadn't interfered, what would have happened to them?

But Jason was shaking his head. "Look, I know I'm not the most reliable source, but you've got the best dad you could get. Bruce might be a jerk sometimes, but he'll do anything for you. And I know you'd do the same for him, or you wouldn't be so torn up over this. Even I can tell how much he loves you. He went to the ends of the universe to get you back. Me? I tried to kill you, and I'll probably never be completely okay again. Any kid I have, I'm going to fuck up worse than Bruce does. Given the choice, I would have put my kid up for adoption, and Bruce might have adopted them anyway. Nothing changes. No matter how much you crack your head over it."

"Maybe..." Damian wasn't sure he was completely convinced, but he was having trouble arguing back right now. Everything was still too raw. Maybe with a few more days to think it over...

But Jason was still talking. "I know, it sucks. I wish you had a better mother, and if we're right with our guesses, then I screwed that up for you too. But you've got a chance at a good life now. Don't toss that out for some shitty ideas about blood and genetics. If you don't believe me, just ask Dick. He'll tell you better than anyone that biology means jack shit when it comes to family."

"But..."

"No, buts," Jason raked a hand through his hair. "Shit. I suck at this. Okay look, what do you think Dick would say if you asked him about his family? Would he say he's alone in the world because his parents are dead."

"Obviously not," Damian settled on glaring at him. That, he was much more familiar with. "Grayson would never consider himself alone."

"Because he has you in his life?" Jason asked.

"Naturally."

"And Bruce?"

"What are you getting at, Todd?"

"Would you call yourselves a family?"

Damian hesitated, only because he had never called them that. He knew how the elder Robins felt, but that didn't mean he had to agree with them out loud.

But Jason didn't let up. "What would you call yourselves then? Friends?"

"Partners," Damian said immediately.

"Who share a home? A breakfast table? Who keep pictures of each other on the walls?" The scoff was obvious in his words. "Come on, kid, you're smarter than that!"

The infuriating thing was that Jason was right, and Damian was honest enough to know it. Damn him for using Grayson as a trump card.

"That doesn't mean I want to be family with you," Damian settled on the obvious.

"Yeah, yeah, and most of the time, the feeling's mutual, believe me," Jason drawled. "But Bruce chose us all for his crazy family a long time ago. And you, me, Dick, and Tim? We became brothers because we give a shit about each other. Much as you fuckers drive me crazy, the fact is, I have brothers now, and the same is true for you, Damian. You're one of us. And if you want me to be honest, I don't completely hate the fact that I get a little brother out of all this, okay? At least until the next time Bruce disowns me."

Damian blinked again in surprise. He wanted to say that Todd and Drake were not his brothers, but stopped himself. Drake wasn't here to argue with him any more, and that didn't seem fair for some reason.

"You're one of us," Jason repeated, more gently. It wasn't a tone Damian had ever heard from him before. "Even if your entire genome was made up of Slade Wilson's genes, you're Bruce's kid now. Nothing is going to change that for him."

The worst part about this, was that Jason Todd was making a certain kind of sense.

Which wasn't something Damian had ever expected from the Red Hood, no matter how much Alfred assured him of how smart Jason had been at school. Damian's experience was with the hot-headed Red Hood, though he would be the first to admit he rarely willingly spent time with the man behind the costume, and certainly not in a one-on-one situation like this. He only knew distantly that Jason was getting better every day, that the Pit-madness had passed, leaving behind his own towering pile of issues to deal with.

And the more they all worked together, the better Damian was getting to know the men who had been Robin before him. He could respect their skills, even if they were all clearly lacking in some departments. But after what happened to Tim Drake, after the funeral, maybe it was worth learning more about each of them, before it was too late for all of them.

Damian squared his shoulders, and lifted his head. He was Robin now. He could behave like one. "I appreciate you being honest with me."

He meant it too. If there was one thing Jason Todd could be counted on, it was being direct. No tip-toeing. No hidden meanings. Not like the League of Assassins. And it was not unworthy of respect.

A crooked sort of grin flashed across Jason's face. "Hey, that's one thing I can always give you. Droppin' truth bombs, that's me."

Damian snorted.

"Go on home, kid," Jason picked up his bags again. He probably wanted to get home too. "I'm sure your dad's wondering where you've got to."

"I can take care of myself," Damian pointed out.

"Didn't say you couldn't, but I know we both have other things to do tonight."

"Very well," Damian said in a way that sounded exactly like Alfred. "This... Will you keep this between us?"

"Only if you want me to. You can tell whoever you like, it's no secret to me. And your mother's probably never going to give up the complete truth. But if you want another opinion, talk to Bruce. He might be angry with me - again - but he'll still tell you the same thing: that you're his son as long as that's what you both want."

Damian nodded. "Perhaps I will speak with... with Father," he decided out loud. The words settled in his head. They felt right. Thoughts that had been whirling through his mind had quietened, although he still had questions. And he still wasn't sure how he felt about it all.

"Yeah, you do that," Jason said. "I'm going home. Just give me a heads up if Bruce decides to go on the warpath and interrupts my dinner, would you?"

Damian watched him pick up his bags and continue down the alley. He hesitated, thinking of Tim Drake and the things he would never get to say.

"Jason!"

The use of his first name was enough to freeze Jason's pace before he could take another step.

"I don't hate you."

"Woah!" Jason turned, his eyes comically wide. "Are you actually becoming a real boy?"

Damian glowered. "Shut up, Todd."

Jason's expression softened, and he grinned crookedly. "For what it's worth, I don't hate you either, brat."

This time, as Damian watched the man carry his shopping down the alley, his heart was lighter. The questions and confusion still swarmed in his head, but at least one person was being honest with him. That pacified his anger at least.

With renewed focus, Damian turned his attention for home.

*

"Father," Damian said from the doorway, "it is imperative that I speak with you."

Bruce Wayne put down the W.E. ledger he was paging through. "Come in, Damian, I have time."

"Thank you, Father."

As Damian strode into the room, he listened to his father phone Pennyworth downstairs, to fetch them both some tea. Damian had timed his visit well. He knew that the CEO of Wayne Enterprises liked to break from work as close to 6pm as possible, when working from home.

The large office clock ticked quietly past the hour as Damian took a seat opposite the desk.

"What can I do for you?" his father asked.

Now that the moment had arrived of course, Damian was unsure where to begin. Start at the beginning, he remembered Grayson's usual advice.

"Three days ago, I observed the Red Hood meeting with Talia," he said.

Immediately, his father's eyes darkened. "Talia was in Gotham? What was she meeting Jason for?"

"They are not working together," Damian hurried to inform him. "Todd called her to confront her. He knew about our investigation into Deathstroke, and the question of my parentage."

"It's not a question," his father added, "but go on."

Damian nodded. "Todd met with Talia because he knew he was my biological father."

"That's impossible." His expression barely changed on the other side of the desk, but the statement was as solid as the table between them. 

"Talia was lying when she denied it," Damian added. "The effect was as good as a confirmation."

"And you observed this?"

"I did."

Father was silent long enough that Pennyworth arrived with their tea before he spoke again.

"Thank you, Alfred. Would you please bring up a copy of the recent Wilson DNA case?"

The butler's expression shifted. "Not further complications, I hope?"

"Jason thinks he's Damian's father."

"Oh my!" The teacups clinked as he set them on the table.

"He refuses the responsibility," Damian put in, causing both men to turn to him at once. "I have just spoken with Todd, and he had some pertinent things to say. I wish to hear your thoughts on them."

His father looked like he was getting a headache. It was a common expression on his face when Jason Todd was the topic. "All right, Damian. What did he say?"

Damian nodded and settled more comfortably in his chair. Pennyworth retreated from the room, presumably to find a copy of the case file for reference and updating.

"He said you care not for the significance of genetic ties," Damian began.

"True," his father said almost immediately. "I took Dick in when he had no one else, and later the rest of you. I've always considered you my children, regardless of where you came from. Jason's not wrong about that, although it's been a long time since he's called me his father."

"He called me his brother."

Father's eyebrow rose minutely in surprise. "I see."

Damian nodded. "He said you and I chose to be father and son, and that that choice made it true."

Father took a moment to drink from his tea. The gesture seemed to relax him, and his expression was softer when he set the cup back in its saucer.

"Jason is smart," Father began. "He's not always stable, but he's smart, and he's right in this case. He knows that even if it's true, he can't be what you need, and he wants what's best for you. He also knows that our choices are important. Our choices are what make us who we are. Tell me what happened between you."

Damian started talking, relaxing as he did so. He had always found it easy to speak with Father, who listened without interrupting, even when Damian confessed to their fight in the alley.

By the time he finished, his tea was getting cold, and he hurried to take a drink. If there was one thing Pennyworth knew, it was tea, and it was undoubtedly too good to waste.

"It's possible Talia set up Slade and myself as a distraction. Thank you, Alfred," Father said as the butler returned with a thick folder. "In case I ever started digging. I would never think to look elsewhere, least of all in my own house."

"So you believe Mother lied to us?" Damian asked, not certain he wanted to hear the answer.

Father paused. "It's too early to say without more information. My test came back positive. So did Slade Wilson's sample. One of them was likely faked, although it's possible your mother used all our genes in some form of genetic manipulation. Two positive results are a little too convenient for me. I assume you ran your own test against Jason's DNA?"

Damian nodded again. "Inconclusive. There are similarities, greater than to be expected by random chance, but not enough to conclusively determine a relative."

"Unsurprising," Father mused. He accepted the folder, but didn't open it, only frowning at the cover.

"And what of Jason in all this?" Pennyworth asked.

"He's not making a claim on Damian," Father said, "even though he may have a solid basis for that claim."

To his own horror, Damian's eyes prickled. Why would his mother do this to him? He knew her reasons and yet he still could not understand why she would keep all of this from him.

"Damian?" Father's voice was very soft.

When he looked up, Damian's vision was blurred. "Father?"

Father pushed his chair back from the table, and that was invitation enough. Damian was up and around the table before he could rethink the impulse.

His face still fit into the crook of Father's neck, that dark, safe place, where no one would judge his weaknesses.

Father's arms folded large and warm around his back. "I'm sorry, Damian. You don't deserve any of this."

"I don't want any other father," Damian murmured into his shoulder.

"And that isn't going to happen." Father was firm as Batman in his words. His hands settled on Damian's back, warm and protective. "You're my son, and you always will be."

"Todd said that too," Damian sniffed.

"Hm." Father's hand brushed his hair.

Damian shut his eyes to savor the moment. After three days of questions and anger, this healed him better than anything else. His father was here still.

In that moment, Damian knew with certainty that not even his mother or the League of Assassins could take that away from him.

Was this what Jason had meant?

Damian straightened, and his father let him go.

Blue eyes, so familiar, watched Damian. The warmth in that gaze was unlike anyone else who had ever looked at him, and it soothed Damian's aching heart. His father might not say it often, not to anyone, but Damian knew how much his father loved him. How could he ever doubt that look?

"Damian," his father said after a moment. "I'd like your interpretation on Jason's reasons. You were there to observe him. How did he seem to you?"

"He is afraid and confused," Damian said immediately. Todd was an open book, one of the weaknesses he had yet to overcome. A lot of his talking was a balm to his own insecurities. "He fears the potential of being a parent, and he's not wrong that he's not ready. I... I believe him when he says he is happy to be my brother."

"So do I, Damian. And ignoring what may or may not be the facts of the case, given a free choice, what is it you would want?"

"I don't want anything to change."

His father smiled at that, the small, genuine smile that not many people ever got to see. "Then nothing will change. You're my son, as long as you'll have me for a father, and I feel lucky every day for that fact."

Damian nodded, satisfied in a way he had not felt in days. "Thank you, Father."

Father tapped the file on the table in front of him. "Still, I want to look into this claim. Have you finished your homework?"

"My physics paper will be ready on time, though I maintain that Laplace's Superman is an inaccurate name given Superman falls far short of Laplace's theoretical concept."

Father was clearly suppressing a smile. "I'm sure Clark would be the first to agree with you. I respect your exploration of physical determinism, but try not to forget to answer the set question."

"Tt." Damian had leaned all about Newtonian physics several years ago. The only thing that kept him engaged in class was doing his own reading outside of it. "I will be in the Batcave at the usual time."

Father nodded, and Damian turned to head for his room, his heart a lot lighter than it had been when he entered.

Through the windows of the hallway, the darkening Manor grounds lay hazy in the rising fog. Soon it would be time for Batman and Robin to head out again. He couldn't wait.

"If you were a drinking man, surely the prospect of your son being your grandson instead would call for something stronger than tea," Alfred's voice drifted behind him.

"If I were a drinking man, no doubt," Father hummed, before the shuffle of paper indicated Batman was setting down for work himself.

*

Jason made it home before he had bled through the entire wrap around his arm, so he counted that a win. Maybe the cut wasn't as deep as he had thought after all. His neck still throbbed too, and there was a headache building, but at least there was one less flying ogre on the loose. Or whatever that thing had been. He'd hack the GCPD later and figure it out.

Right now, his jacket was a lost cause, but at least the armor underneath had protected all his vital parts.

Jason dropped the shredded leather on his bathroom floor while he retrieved the medical supplies. His armor followed, slower. The red bat on his chest plate was scratched, and one knee-guard was dented, and they joined the rest of his costume on the floor, to sort out later.

His face was too pale in the mirror, but Jason put that down to exhaustion rather than blood loss. His field dressing was holding for now, so he wasn't too worried about that.

He had his med kit in hand when a sliding sound caught his attention.

That was either a clumsy burglar coming in through his window, or one of his allies letting him know they weren't being quiet.

Jason cocked one of his guns, ready to shoot in either case.

"It's five o'clock in the morning," Jason called out, heading out into the hallway, med kit in one hand, his gun in the other. "You want something, come back in six hours!"

When he rounded the corner to his kitchen, a familiar shadow was turning away from the window. It didn't make Jason relax.

"Do we have to do this now? I just got home and I have an arm to stitch up."

He had no problem being open about the injury, since Batman would notice it in less than a second once they started punching each other.

The last thing Jason expected was for Bruce to reach up and pull off his cowl. "I'm only here to talk."

"And you couldn't have called, like a normal person?"

"Would you have answered?"

"Maybe," Jason groused. If he'd thought it was an emergency. Maybe not, with the way he expected to get lectured. But instead of conceding the point, he flipped the safety back on his gun, and tossed the weapon onto the kitchen counter. It clattered loud on the linoleum, and Jason finally switched on the light, bathing his small kitchen in a warm glow.

"Like I said, I have an arm to patch up," he pulled out a bar stool and started unwrapping his arm. "So if you're going to lecture me, I have access to sharp, pointy objects."

"What happened?" Bruce stepped closer to the counter from the other side.

"Got thrown into a wall, fell down on some broken tiles. Got myself some whiplash and cuts, but nothing major." When he looked down at his wrap, it was still white on the outside. That was a good sign. "The smuggler I was tracking turned out to have a super strong ogre for a guard-dog. With wings."

The wrap on his arm fell away, revealing the remains of his under-suit, sticky and stiffening with dried blood. Jason flipped open his kit, and pulled out the scissors. His under-suit wasn't designed for armor, and gave way easily, except where it clung, wet and stiff, and pulled on his injury when he tried to peel it away.

Gloved hands stopped him.

"Let me," Bruce said.

The prospect of Bruce with needles and scissors made Jason pause before he decided he was being ridiculous. What was Bruce going to do? Stab him with a sewing needle?

He nodded, and kept pressure on the arm as Bruce sat down opposite him. He watched Bruce slide off his gauntlets and replace them with clean surgical gloves a moment later.

Just like that, Jason was back in the Batcave and fifteen years old, letting Bruce stitch up the stab wound in his bicep, while Alfred worked on his side. With all the painkillers in his system at the time, he'd sunken into Bruce's chest plate while they worked, letting the closeness with his dad help him relax.

"Okay?" Bruce said then, as now.

Jason nodded.

Now, there were no drugs in is system, and his arm screamed fire when Bruce peeled away the soaked material. Blood had smeared and dried brown along his arm, but Jason could still make out the sharp V-shaped cut. The few smaller cuts there had already stopped bleeding, it was only from the the large one that fresh blood still glistened. He knew as soon as Bruce did, what had happened.

"Not deep," Bruce said, "but you cut off a whole flap of your skin, that's why it was bleeding so much." He reached for the kit on the table. "You might not even need stitches, but we'll know more after we clean this."

They didn't speak for a long time after that.

Jason breathed through the disinfecting wipes that stung and burned, but Bruce's hands were careful and confident as he worked. His touch was warm, even through the gloves, and full of the same steadiness Jason had craved as a child. It was still there in his hands, after all this time and everything that had happened between them.

It made Jason want to cry.

"You should go to Lesley tomorrow," Bruce was saying, "just to make sure there's no further damage, but I can wrap this up again for you for tonight."

Jason nodded. It was all catching up with him now: the confrontation with Damian, the fight with the ogre, the emotional burden of the past few days. And now Bruce's large, capable hands were putting him back together. Literally. Exhaustion seeped through Jason's bones, making him feel heavy all over, as Bruce started dressing his arm again.

"Why aren't you angry?" Jason found himself asking.

"I am, but not with you," Bruce said, placing a clean gauze pad over the cut.

"Oh," Jason said.

Bruce reached for a roll of gauze and started re-wrapping Jason's arm. "You were sixteen and alive with the League of Assassins when I visited Talia there, when Damian was conceived."

Jason wasn't sure what Bruce was getting at, so he just shrugged. "I don't really know how it happened. She was there, and I wanted to hurt you. That's all it was. I don't really regret it, but I wouldn't do it again either."

Bruce kept wrapping his arm, his hands still sure and gentle, only his voice revealing his anger. "It doesn't matter now. Talia kept two of my sons from me."

"You wouldn't have wanted to see me back then. I was angry, and turned around. I wanted so much to hurt everyone, in any way I could." Sometimes he still did. He'd learned to live with it, but the anger had never disappeared completely.

"No," Bruce said. "I would always want to see you. I would always have wanted to know about my children. Or did you not want to know if Damian was yours?"

The fact that Bruce was comparing them at all, as if Damian was his... "Fuck."

"You know what it's like then."

"I don't..." Jason did not know what it was like to have a child, to care about a child that deeply, not really.

"You worry, even when you don't think it's your place," Bruce continued. "Because there's a child you feel a responsibility to protect. Even if he's not yours, you still care, you still want better things for him. There's nothing wrong with feeling like that, it's what makes you a good person. In the coming weeks you are going overcome the shock and start to see things more clearly. You need to know that what you're feeling is not wrong or misplaced."

Jason stared at him. That was the most he had heard Bruce say in a long time, at least, when it wasn't a mission briefing. "He's not..." Jason stopped himself at the last moment from saying Damian wasn't his, because he was fairly certain that he at least owed Damian his biological existence.

"Maybe not," Bruce agreed. "But don't try to kill off those feelings. They will make you a better person. Maybe even a better hero. Almost certainly a better brother."

Bruce finished and fastened the bandage with a clip, and started cleaning up the used supplies.

"Thank you," Jason said. He arm felt properly cared for. It never felt like that when he had to do it all himself.

Bruce touched his arm, right where the stab wound scar had been until the Lazarus Pit healed it, and for a moment Jason leaned into the warmth of that touch. The fifteen year-old in him had missed his dad's warmth.

Damian had asked: _Why are you being so nice to me?_ Right now Jason could have asked Bruce the same thing, except a part of him already knew what the answer was going to be.

"Do you think Talia lied to you?" Jason asked instead.

Bruce straightened and continued with his cleaning. "Both you and Damian think so. I'm inclined to believe the truth is more complicated."

Weariness was starting to make Jason's brain slow down, and he had to rub his face to try and rouse himself. "So... that's a yes?"

Bruce's mouth quirked. "Maybe."

"I hate when you don't give straight answers," Jason told him.

Before he knew it, his counter was clean again, his kitchen spotless, as if he hadn't come home bleeding and sore. Outside the window, the sky was just a shade lighter than when he had crawled in earlier.

"GCPD found the body of your guard-dog," Bruce said, pulling his gauntlets back on. "They didn't find your smuggler."

Jason frowned. "He got away while I was dealing with his monster. But I'll track him down; I know his manifest now. Not a lot of flexibility with an arms shipment already on the way."

"Be careful. The others worry about you." Batman was pulling his cowl back on, his eyes disappearing behind the lenses once more. The distance between them returned to normal: masks and unspoken words. It was always "the others" that cared. As if only "the others" worried about him.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Dad."

Batman froze.

Jason swallowed and looked away.

An awkward silence hung over the kitchen.

Jason slowly unclenched a fist. Neither of them would ever be as open with each other as they had been when Jason was a child. That time was gone. But on days he was honest with himself, at his most stable, he knew the people that made up his family still cared. He hadn't been lying to Damian about that.

"I know," Jason broke the tension, at last, his voice horse. "I'm not keen on dying again either."

He sensed Batman's nod, although he still refused to look up.

He only knew Batman was gone out his window again by the way the light shifted in his kitchen. Then there was only the cold night breeze, and the sounds of early morning traffic outside.

Jason touched his perfectly wrapped arm. It still ached, and his neck pulled every time he moved it. Now that he was sitting still, all the injuries and bruises were making themselves known. His back and shoulders were going to be black and blue for a few days, and a weary ache made him want to sleep right there in his kitchen.

Forget Batman. Forget family. He was too tired to deal with anything more, Jason decided, dragging himself to his feet. All that stuff could damn well wait until he'd found his heat packs and ice packs and had some sleep.

When he went to shut the window, a faint glow on the horizon hinted at the coming daylight. The fog that had been hanging around all night was beginning to dissipate, and Jason took a deep breath before re-arming his security.

Later.

He'd deal with the daylight later.


End file.
